


Exhaustion

by Desdimonda



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, one short, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6902212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy and Genji seek solace in a rendezvous point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhaustion

“Are we safe here?” asked Genji, as he walked over the fifth floor of the ruined high-rise, the highest floor that remained. He tried to move his arm again, but it was rigid, immobile.

“Y-yes, I think,” said Mercy as she hastily pulled off her shoes, the click, click of their soles so loud against the broken walls. “Winston signalled this building as a rendezvous if we got separated.”

“No-one else is here,” he said, his voice quiet, shaken with frustration. He paused, looked around, the light of his visor flickering before he sank against a wall. A weary sigh passed his lips.

He was _exhausted_.

“They will be,” said Mercy as she watched him, the concern bright in her eyes, the dark circles, heavy, beneath her lids. “Can you still not move it?”

“No.” He dropped to the floor and sat, one leg pushed out lazily, the other pulled to his chest to support his arm. 

Mercy dropped her bag at his leg before she joined his side, curling her legs beneath her as she tried to find a shred of comfort on this concrete mass. “Let me have a look.”

“Why bother,” he said, his words bitter, harsher than he wished.

Mercy gave him no reply, and just pulled out the small tools she kept with her for on the fly upkeep of her Valykrie suit, and for Genji now that he was back.

A smile pulled at the corner of her chapped lips.

He was back. Back, with them. They all were. But - 

Mercy lifted the small implements to his shoulder, blinking a few times to try and refocus her gaze. Her exhaustion was blearing her eyes, making it hard to find the right spot. It had to be right, or she’d do more damage than help.

“Stay still,” she murmured, more to herself than him.

“I am,” came his dry reply.

A tired laugh passed her lips as she set her hands onto his shoulder, dipping her head, the shock of her hair falling forward against his neck.

Oh, he wished he could _feel_ it.

“What?” asked Genji, staring at her, the light of his visor unblinking, dull. Something was funny apparently. She wouldn’t stop laughing. He, smiled.

“I don’t know - I just - you remember when your leg seized up one morning, and when I came to see you, and you stood up-”

Genji tilted back his head against the wall and joined in on her quiet laughter. “I fell flat on my face in-front of you. Yes I remember,” he said, turning to face her. “You joined me on the floor you were laughing so hard at my lost dignity.”

She tilted her head against the wall in an echo of his as the laughter slowly abated, but her smile remained. 

“You were so grumpy with me for two days after,” she said, her fingers resting on his shoulder, the tools still held loosely in her hands.

“At least three,” he said, watching her heavy eyelids begin to close.

She blinked, pushing away the exhaustion as she refocused her gaze back on his shoulder, poising her tools, ready. 

“The hydraulics must be twisted,” she said, “or maybe...”

As she worked, Genji closed his eyes, the delicate touch of her fingers; of the tools against his metal skin was almost hypnotic, lulling him to a sense of peace, of serenity he only often found at Nepal these days.

But now, with Angela, with her presence again in his life, he was beginning to find a different kind of serenity. When Zenyatta had offered his guidance, and he had accepted, he had found peace of body; peace of his mind.

But now, with Angela, was this - was this -

One of the tools slipped from her hand with a clatter.

Genji turned and noticed her head had slipped to his shoulder, her shock of blonde hair obscuring her face. Slowly, her hand dragged down his ridged arm, her fingers slipping against the metal. It rested on his lap, and with his good arm, he reached out and took her fingers into his hand as he turned towards her.

The lull of sleep, heavy too, on his eyes.

They woke, several hours later beneath Winston’s coat, and the first thing he saw, was her smile.

It had been the first time he had woken up, at her side.

And he hoped, it would not be the last.


End file.
